


Origins

by CheifHijinks



Series: Delusions AU [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: A game of 'Is he real or nah?', Apathetic doctors, Cursing in Google translate Spanish(sorry), Delusions AU, Forced Kiss, Injection suffering, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Questionable pov, SEP, Supernatural!Gabriel, Very liberal supernatural elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-21 00:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9523112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheifHijinks/pseuds/CheifHijinks
Summary: Entering SEP meant becoming a  hero, a super soldier. That was what they always advertised and what Jack signed up for. Apart from being pushed to the limits in drills and simulations, or getting injected with questionable poison, Jack is more concerned with the hooded figure whose eyes seem to always be on him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of an AU I made up and became obsessed with for a while. It's the only part I feel really confident about while the others keep getting reworked. *Shrugs*  
> I don't have a beta and don't have a really concrete idea of what I want this to be but there might be more in the same universe. Enjoy.  
> ****Edit: Fixed some typos.

It started after the first round of injections. Jack had a stalker of sorts. For the last weeks, he felt someone watching him, none his peers or the staff. When he walked alone through corridors or found himself the only one in the gym or practice range, he felt someone's eyes on him. The cameras around the facility along with the oddly omnipresent staff had already bled into the background. This gaze made him feel strange, like someone was looking out _for_ him instead of just watching him. Needless to say, it was unnerving.

Jack walked along the hallway, flanked by Philips and Neilman, the two debating some sport while Jack listened. He felt it again. Despite the other two, he felt the stare. He'd long decided it was his own paranoia or stress of his nerves, but that didn't stop him from scanning the hallway and even glancing behind them. Seeing nothing, he shook his head as they made their way down to med bay for round two of their injections. As explained to them by a veteran of the program, the injections had rounds, in which each round had a certain number of doses. So far, his batch had completed the first round, though it was frighteningly obvious how their numbers had dwindled in the last week.

The doors opened and immedietely scent of the sterile room hit the air: the stale smell of medication and disinfectant. Within the large room, partition curtains were set up to create compartments consisting of a chair, a scientist, and a small table for equipment. Unlike last time, the room contained less staff, leaving Jack a bit disappointed, having befriended one of the nurses giving the last round's injections. There weren't any IV poles either. One curtain was still closed, its rings chiming harshly as they were pushed open. The remaining soldier left, looking green in the face and clutching their stomach. Jack watched him go, wondering what side effects would occur due to this round. Last time, the effects were minor, headaches, over sensitivity, and mild colds. Those who reacted violently were dismissed or simply disappeared. Philips and Neilman parted to a chair and Jack did the same. Jack relaxed in his partition, the chair uncomfortable and lowered for a working height. The scientist was looking over her clipboard, glancing at him and the questionable vials on the table. She glanced at her watch but sat quietly for a moment longer. They never liked to start early, some mess about skewing results if not at a specified time or something. Two soldiers Jack didn't recognize arrived later for the remaining chairs. Then the staff started, each closing their curtains.

They didn't speak unnecessarily while asking for general confirmation questions: name, date of birth, any pain or effects from the last rounds. With a nod, the scientist marked her clipboard before turning to the table.

"So how are you?" Jack tried to talk but received no answer. He tried again but was met with silence. Soon, he stared at the white ceiling and waited. The pinprick felt deeper than the IV. His breathing deepened. Something was pushed into his veins, thick and sluggish. He could feel it gush in, an uncomfortable sensation that distracted him long enough to not notice the needle being removed until another pinprick stabbed into his wrist. He almost withdrew his arm, but a latex hand held him down as more of the thick solution was pushed into his veins. His arm heavy and numb. In the room, he heard faint whines and groans, agreeing with his discomfort. The latex hand placed bandages on both injections sites before picking up the clipboard once again and flipping some pages. She took her chair and wheeled it to his left side, needle once again in hand. She performed the same injections on his left arm, taking care to hold down his hand. Both sides bandages, he heard her marking something on the board but didn't register it. Both arms felt heavy. Too heavy with a numb pain radiating from the injection sites. His mind felt foggy and sweat was going down his temple. Breathing still harsh, he tried to calm himself and looked over. The woman put away the equipment.

"You're finished," her tone was clipped, professional."Go back to your room and rest. You have tomorrow off and there should be a care package in your room."

With that, Jack attempted to stand, a wave of nausea hitting him. This was familiar to the first time, as he balanced himself with a hand against the arm rest. Taking a moment, he stood straighter, his breathing less labored and opened the curtain. It's ringing chain was ear-splitting, causing him to flinch, but he kept going. His legs were sluggish and a numbness by the injection sites felt odd. Nonetheless, he made his way out of med bay, leaning against the hallway walls. As he trudged along, he thought he heard someone sigh. Glancing around, there was no one, but a renewed paranoia flaring once more. The eyes were watching him, somewhere. Even as he closed the door behind him and changed, he felt the gaze. Tired, Jack laid on his bunk, pulling the blanket over him. Based on the first round, he was probably going to come down with a cold or something and feel like shit for a couple days. Nothing too bad. Turning off the lights, he laid on his side and let sleep overtake him.

•••••••••••••

God, Jack was dying. He knew he was dying. Everything ached. His body burned white hot as he kicked off the blankets. He was sweating profusely and already heaved his stomach contents in the bathroom. His body shaked and shuddered as it tried to accommodate the foreign injections. This was not what he signed up for. He didn't think transforming into a super soldier would be like _this_. It wasn't like this the first time. Jack groaned from the pain. Everything his skin touched burned and he couldn't do anything about it. Helpless.

During the first round of injections, he thought he was fine. The doctors weren't as eccentric as he had thought. They were actually pleasant, or at least the ones assigned the him were. He and the nurse had chatted as the oddly colored liquid was administered through an IV. While it slowly dripped, he smiled and talked like usual, observing the doctors as they took notes on his vitals. Sure he felt nausea but that he expected. When the IV was finished, they told him that tomorrow was his rest day and a care package was waiting for him. As he left the med bay, he did feel a bit sick but managed to walk back to his room feeling fine. The care package had a note explaining that the staff would check on him tomorrow. This was SEP. At the time he wondered why the mystery and the horror stories. Now he knew. _Now he understood._

Jack curled on his bunk, clutching his stomach. His insides felt like they were eating themselves, like his stomach had burst and the acids were wreaking havoc on all his organs. His lungs burned with every breath and he couldn't get enough, drowning on dry land. It was so impossibly hot. He felt too weak to even stand and his throat too dry to even call for help. Where the hell were the doctors?

"How pathetic," the voice was deep with an airy quality that sounded more like a growl. He was sure it was directed towards him. A gravel tone that was spoken in a whisper, but to Jack, it sounded like a shout. It wasn't one of the staff or his peers, yet the voice was familiar, comforting even. There was no other sound. Jack tried to turn and look at the source. It was a slow roll that made him groan. A white mask met his gaze, shaped in the image of a skull mixed with the face of those old barn owls from home, and cloaked in a hood. The stranger was looming over him, head tilted to the side.

Jack knew he should fight. He had to defend himself, but right now, he could barely lift his head to get a better look. The stranger kneeled down and looked into his eyes. The expressionless mask hid his intentions. 

"Who...?" he croaked.

"Oh Jack, what did they do to you?"

The stranger knew his name. Warning bells should be going off in his head but they weren't. He felt calm when he shouldn't. And when did it get cold in here? A dark hand reached out. Jack braced himself, closing his eyes. He was ready to die here, weak with the poison of the injections, in the hands of a stranger dressed like death himself. In his mind, he apologized to his family and felt guilt at his weakness. A cold hand was on his forehead and a soft humming voice met his ears. The surprise didn't last long as he felt himself relax. The voice, oddly familiar, soothed him. It seemed to reduce the pain just a bit as the cool hand felt nice against his skin.

"Don't give up on me yet, _mí luna_. Now sleep."

That comforting voice. Who was this? Why did they sound familiar? Jack couldn't contemplate those questions as he sank into oblivion.

When he woke up, he felt marginally better. The morning came with vomiting any contents in his stomach again but after washing up, it was a bit better than yesterday, just with an added small migraine. His head and body still ached but he could move with a bit more ease. It was still hot but bearable. There was no window and he didn't remember the time so there was no telling how long he was out. Laying back down on the bed, he still felt the ebbing dream, a looming figure, a skull mask, and a warm voice with cold hands. What kind of dream was that?

_Knock. Knock._

Without his reply, the door opened and Dr.Lang stepped in with two nurses. An older thin man, the doctor took a glance at Jack and smiled. "Hello 76, how are you feeling today?"

How nice. He wasn't even going to use his name. At least the nurses had a look of pity, or one did while the other shook her head. He probably looked really bad. Still felt pretty bad too.

"Like I'm burning alive," he replied dryly and tried to sit up. He leaned against the wall, the cool surface feeling good against his skin and reminding him of a certain stranger.

One nurse came over and started taking his vitals. Dr.Lang began asking questions and marking on his clip board. Did you throw up? If so how much? Did you drink any liquids? Do you have any skin discoloration? A bunch of questions that could thankfully be answered in a yes or no. The simple migraine had become worse and Jack wasn't sure if he could muscle through another 'polite' answer.

Clipboard content, Dr.Lang instructed the nurses for an IV. One wheeled in the pole as the other set up the needle. The pinprick made him grimace,but they had Jack hooked up in no time and administered some weird orange liquid that dissolved translucent.

"To help with the fever" the doctor explained. "You just have to burn it out."

"What?" Jack managed. He watched the drip. It wasn't until the bag was half empty did he understand. If he thought he was burning before, he was blazing now. It was like they injected lava straight into his veins. He tried to bite his lip and take it but couldn't and screamed in pain. Dr. Lang merely nodded in semi-interest and marked something on his clipboard. When Jack tried to rip the needle out, the nurses stopped him. The doctor tutted.

"Now, now 76. I understand its side effects may feel volatile but it should assist in rebalancing your homeostasis for your body to accept the serum."

Jack didn't hear a lick of what he said. All he knew is that whatever they gave him burned and hurt like hell, and they wanted him to keep it there. His breathing ragged, it took all his willpower to calmly not try and rip the damn needle out again. Once the bag was empty, one nurse kept hold of his arm while the other removed the needle safely. They let go of Jack and one patted his shoulder as if to commend him on a job well done. He started hyperventilating, as if his lungs had shrunk and needed twice as much air. The nurses shot him concerned looks and Dr.Lang even looked over his clip board. He clutched his chest, as his breathing began to even out. The lava in his veins had stopped but he felt a dull ache radiating from his arm. His pulse still slammed into his ear as he slumped and laid back down. One of the nurses helped him readjust, laying the blanket over him. The sound of the door closing signaled the staffs' departure.

Jack tried to sleep but tossed and turned. It was too hot. Like earlier, the sheets were soaked in sweat, but at least it didn't feel like his body was trying to eat itself from the inside out. Still, he felt exhausted and weak yet his nerves were too high strung to rest. It was like his senses couldn't come down from an adrenaline high. He couldn't stop focusing on the new pin pricking aches starting throughout his body or how bright the florescent lights were overhead. Even the standard blankets felt odd against his skin as they were pulled on and kicked off constantly. He didn't know how long had past when he felt that he wasn't alone. The room had grown cold.

"Jack..," that voice again. He turned to look and behold, it was that stranger once again. Bone mask, black hood. _But that voice._ The way he said his name was so desperate. So familiar.

"Jack...," he repeated, kneeling in front of the bed to face him. The stranger pressed a cold hand to Jack's forehead again. That felt nice. "I'll kill them for this."

Jack tried to respond but his throat was so dry. All that came out was a pitiful sound. The stranger took note of that and helped him sit up. He slumped against the wall as the dark hood turned away from him. He watched as the stranger went for the care package and returned,uncapping a bottle of water.

"You have to drink Jack," he held the water to him. Jack tried to take it but his hands shook, unsteady and spilled the water onto the bed. 

" _Mierda_ ," it sounded like curse. Jack tried to apologize and try again, ending in the same result. His fuzzy mind barely registered the wet feeling on his lap as he attempted to land more of the water in his mouth than on the blanket. As he was about to try his next attempt, the bottle was taken from him.

Before he could process, cold lips were against his, asking for- _no demanding_ -permission. Surprised, his mouth gaped and cold water poured in and down his throat. Drops leaked from their lips down his cheek and he pulled back coughing. When he finished, the sensation was repeated. Cold lips, the tickle of a beard. Water being pushed down his throat. Each time they parted, Jack's breathing increased. He panted, blushing not only from the fever. When the bottle was finally empty, the stranger turned away and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. When he turned back, the mask was whole, as if he'd never taken it off. Jack, bleary eyed and still weak, tried to calm himself.

"Who...are you?" he managed, his body feeling exhausted, at its limits.

"Reaper," was the reply in a deep, hollow voice. "Now sleep Jack. You need to rest."

Jack was pushed back gently onto the pillow as a cold hand stroked his sweat slick hair. Comforting. 

"How do you know my name?"

His question was ignored. The humming had started, some song pleasant to the ears but had no name. It lulled him into a deep sleep.

He was in darkness, but he wasn't afraid. In fact, he felt reassured and calm, as if he'd finally come home. It didn't bother him that he couldn't see past the blackness, that his whole world seemed to be an endless void. Jack was calm. The shadows felt familiar. He wasn't shaking or shuddering with pain here. He felt in control, whole and complete, something he desperately needed.

"Jack..." a ghostly voice. A deep resonating sound. Jack turned towards it to meet a bone white mask. The stranger-no he seemed to familiar to be a stranger- had no body. The black attire blended into the void world, leaving the mask the only visible marker of their presence.

"Reaper...,"his voice didn't sound like his own. It sounded rougher and full of sand. The mask tilted owlishly. 

"You're not alone anymore Jack. I finally found you."

Jack felt something on his shoulder. A clawed hand to his right. Without thinking, he shoved it off and faced the mask once more. Something else brushed against him, not a hand or claw, but something. It was like water vapor, a barely there touch that could easily go unnoticed, minus the wetness.

"Who are you? And why do you know who I am?" 

Another graze by his arm. Jack tried to grab the appendage(?) but his hand felt nothing.

"Soon, _cariño_. Soon," the voice echoed.

Jack called out to him, but the darkness seemed to swallow them both. The mask began to fade.

"Wait!"he yelled but the darkness took them.

When Jack awoke the next morning, at least he thought it was morning, he coughed. His back was slick with sweat, body heated and sore, but he was alive. Grabbing the bed frame, his feet wobbled as he stood. Taking a moment to regain his balance, Jack managed to walk towards the bathroom. The water was cold and felt nice against his heated skin. Wiping away the water with his shirt, his eyes went wide in the mirror. For a brief moment, he thought he saw him. That expressionless mask. The visage of death. The Reaper. Jack touched his lips unconsiously. He could still feel the cold of his lips and the sweet taste of water.

•••••••••••••

"You're looking better Jack," said the dark voice that haunted his dreams.

Jack turned, on the defensive. He scrutinized his room, searching for the source. He remembered that voice. A low husky sound in the form of a growl. The tone had been haunting him in his dreams and seemed to whisper in the back of his memory. Ever since that damn fever, he couldn't stop but think back to that voice and the source of its resonance. Blue eyes searched the room again. He was alone, but it didn't feel like it. He checked the mirror and it stared back with his own guarded reflection.

Surprisingly, the doctor had been right. Whatever stabilizer they gave him, helped. After that fever, the serum was able to do its job, enhancing his body; height,reflexes,and muscle structure, as well as his mind. He filled out his regulation clothes more, to the point where they had to order new ones, and he felt more accustomed to the next round of dosages, less sickness and a feeling of being more alive. His senses were sharpened and his training reflected his new enhancements. He managed to get top records on the training course and shooting range. He was praised and earned the title of Golden Boy, a name that predated SEP but he didn't want to reminisce. 

Jack examined his quarters one last time before shaking his heads. He must be hearing things. That's all it was.

"Don't you remember me?" 

Jack turned and attacked but his fist just went through air. The Reaper stood,unfazed having dodged the attack. His surprise didn't last long as Jack took another swing, but the intruder simply dodged every attempt. With a burst, he managed to catch him off guard. He _should've_ hit. It was _supposed_ to hit. Jack's eyes went wide. His fist went _right through_. A cold breeze, no resistance. He pulled his arm back. Where there should have been an impact, was a gaping _hole_. He could see straight through. Reaper was unfazed as the edges of the hole blurred and knit itself back together right before his eyes. What the Hell? Jack took a step back.

"What's wrong,Jack? You look like you've seen a ghost," the stranger chuckled maliciously. 

"You..,"was all he croaked out. He had to go, _had to run_ , but he simply lingered. He tried to tell his body to run, that he was in danger, but a small part of him felt _relief_ , a gladness at the stranger's presence.

"What are you?" He took another step back but his palm met the wall. He was cornered. The reaper muttered something and the room felt colder. took a step forward, invading his space and examining him up and down.

"I'm Reaper, _pendejo_. Haven't we been over this before?"

Reaper kept appraising him, moving closer. Jack stood, wanting to defend himself but unsure how. His fist had gone right through it. A ghost? The reaper nodded in what seemed to be approval.

"Guess all that injection shit was worth it, huh pretty boy."

A metal claw reached up to touch Jack's chin. The soldier reacted without thinking, grabbing the arm. Thankfully, it was solid. He pulled and turned the ghost, pinning him against the wall. One hand held the wrist tightly against the wraith's back while the other held a wrist against the wall. But Jack knew in the back of his mind, the ghost was simply _allowing_ this, that he could simply slip through his fingers like sand at any moment. Reaper chuckled.

"Nice to see you grew some backbone while I was gone."

"Who and what are you?" His voice was braver now, holding the intruder under his grasp. Another low laugh.

"You want a better answer? Let me go and I'll tell you."

Jack pushed him more forcefully against the wall and took satisfaction at hearing the chink of the mask hitting the surface.

"Tell me," he ordered. Silence. Jack noticed the black mist rising. Just like in that dream. No temperature but smooth like silk. A barely there touch like a caress. The cloud grew and he felt something slip from his hands. It took a moment to process that the figure was gone. He rebalanced himself and watched the cloud drift towards his bed. It solidified again, revealing Reaper sitting casually on the bunk, as if he'd always been there. Jack only stared. What is this? Another hallucination?

"Are you even real?" He blurted out, brows furrowed in confusion.

"I'm as real as you believe me to be," the ghost countered. 

_Knock Knock._

Reaper muttered something under his breath while Jack answered the door. Dr.Lang and only one nurse this time,the nicer one, Rachel, Jack finally got her name, strolled inside with purpose.

"Good morning 76. Seems 75 had to be sent to the med bay last night so we're doing your check up instead," the doctor greeted, clipboard in hand. He gave a polite smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"Hi Jack," Rachel smiled cheerfully, setting her medical bag on the nightstand. Jack smiled back but his eyes went to Reaper, who still sat on his bed. Did they not see him? How could they not see him?

"Take a seat please," Dr.Lang rattled off some other questions on his condition; side effects, illness, the peeling of skin. Jack answered them and sat down next to Reaper. He noticed how he was the only one to make the bed dip. Rachel retrieved her equipment and sat _right where Reaper was siting_. The ghost turned to smoke and Rachel didn't seem to notice it in front of her eyes. However, she did shiver and mutter something about it being cold. 

"Are you okay?" He must have looked surprised.

"Yeah. Just tired I guess. Didn't sleep well last night," there was a click and the sound of scribbling on paper. Welp.

Rachel started taking his blood pressure. Jack tried to remain casual, but his eyes watched the mist slink away from the bed. Dr.Lang was talking about some ingredient to the serum or something. Jack could only watch as the mist settled right in front of the doctor and solidified. Reaper stood _right in front of the man_ , arms crossed, shaking his head.

"Jack, are you okay?" Rachel shot him as concerned glance. Dr.Lang adjusted his glasses.

"Please calm down 76. We wouldn't want to skew any data."

_Yeah Jack._

Jack's mouth drew a flat line. The voice. It was in his head. _it was in his goddamn head._ It sounded as if it was spoken into his ear, clear and sharp. A disembodied voice that no one but he could hear. Rachel and the doctor watched him, searching for his distress. Reaper turned to lean against the wall, watching, in what Jack assumed amusement, for how he would talk his way out of this. He didn't think it was the best idea to say some ghost was haunting him and talking in his head. No, he'd be dismissed immediately. Taking a deep breath, he thought through his words.

"Sorry. I just heard about Cardinal."

Recognition filled two pairs of eyes. One noded with fake empathy while the other held sympathy.

"A shame. Thought he was a promising subject too," Dr.Lang flipped through his papers, probably searching for the number marked 'Cardinal'. Jack wasn't fairly close to the man. They had conversations in the mess and sometimes sparred. Still, when the man suddenly disappeared, it just kept reminding Jack that this was an experiment, that they could be cut at anytime. If it be a dismissal or death.

"Don't worry. You're doing well Jack," Rachel smiled sadly and started taking his pulse and respiration. He breathed deeply. Was he really?

"Though we _shouldn't_ express opinions," the doctor glared at the nurse," we can tell you that you've done well. The injections are compatible with your body and don't seem to be causing too many adverse effects."

_Too many? Wow, real encouraging._

It was a scoff in that thick voice again. In his head. Jack looked to Reaper, but he was looking at the doctor's back with some excessive disinterest. 

The doctor finished up with more questions as Rachel tidied up her equipment. She gave him a note to remind him about the new weekly checkups and to report to the labs instead of med bay every friday. Jack thanked her with a smile and she waved as she and the doctor left. Jack breathed out a sigh and leaned against the wall.

Silence. He glanced at Reaper, who was unmoving, like a statue, void of any dark mist or clouds. So he was in his head? Made sense. He was a ghost. But why? What fucked up imagination did he really have to imagine this? Maybe the injections did more than enhance his body. It probably fucked up his mind. Was he crazy then? He drew a flat smile. Why did he feel so calm right now? Was it Reaper? Who took peace in death itself? Jack laughed bitterly. _Himself_ apparently. 

"And what are you laughing at, boy scout?"

Jack stood, a smirk on his face. So he had a ghost now. Funny. His own personal _Reaper._ Great. Well, just like everything else in SEP, you had to learn to accept things or die. That went from commanding officers to the questionable poison injected in their veins and everything in between. He could accept this right? His mind, in a fucked up fever state, imagined a visage of death as a form of comfort. He laughed again. How ironic. 

"So you're Reaper," he stood and walked towards the wraith, less cautious than before. That seemed to surprise the ghost as he moved back a bit.

"Yeah?" He replied, sounding curious.

"And I'm guessing you're stuck with me?"

"You could say that." Fine.

"Jack Morrison, SEP super soldier in progress," he held out his hand. In the back of his mind, he felt the embarrassment at having an introduction with a figment of his imagination, but this was his life now. Just as the new chemicals coursing through his veins are. The wraith was surprised and hesitant, but still took Jack's hand.

"Reaper. Wraith," he grunted, his tone hinted at amusement. His grip was strong but mindful of his talons. 

"Nice to meet you. Hope we'll get along." Jack smiled.

"Me too, Jackie. Me too."

•••••••••••••

"Are you there?" Jack threw out the question like a shot in the dark. Literally. It was the early morning or so and he was too wired to sleep. All week was filled with more training and team building exersices. Tomorrow was his inspection and to be frank, he was a bit nervous about it. The med bay was one thing, familiar, but he'd never been in the actual labs before. Only test simulations nearby and watching staff flit in and out of its doors was as close as he'd ever gotten. Gossip was popular among the recruits and it was said that was where the defects of the process went. Other stories pinned on the lab actually being a body shop for dismissed or unruly soldiers. Jack wasn't particularly interested in any of the stories, but the enigmatic nature of the labs did faze him. 

Other than that, there was the odd presence of the wraith nearby. After that awkward introduction, the ghost had disappeared into, well, smoke. He didn't see anything of the ghost, but he did _hear_ on 3 occasions. One was a snarky criticism of the cafeteria food. The very same that Jack _replied to_ without thinking, expecting it to be Philips who sat next to him. The man gave a confused look and asked Jack if he was okay. Luckily he thought quickly and turned the conversation to something else and blamed the stupid side effects.

The next time was advice during a simulation. A secure the area scenario against bots. Majority of his team had gotten wiped by being marked fatal and critical shots, leaving him alone with Neilman and Brooks. The ghost had told him to flank around right while Neilman provided cover fire and Brooks made a distraction left. At the time, it surprised Jack and he almost bit the dust then and there but out of better ideas, he relayed the plan to the others. It worked soundly and the simulation was completed. Still, Jack thought it a bit odd how he didn't question the advice as much as he should have. Sure, he scouted and made sure of its benefits but ultimately, he found the tactic the right call with little argument. Having that voice tell him the commands felt kind of like deja vú but he couldn't place the feeling. 

The last comment was made towards Jack himself. A biting remark after losing a sparring match followed by a lengthy explanation of his mistakes in terse, efficient commands. Jack hadn't even thought too much about them. He simply took in the information while drinking some water. After getting tagged back in and following those steps, he managed to correct his form and come out on top.

Since then, the ghost was ever silent and never appeared; however, even when Jack said good night to his peers and closed the door behind him, he never felt truly alone. There was always a faint chill in the air, which felt great after training all day, but an uncanny feeling of being watched. It was only now that Jack decided to speak out with the wraith. A part of him hoped it would appear.

Silence met the dark room as Jack slowly counted his heartbeats. When was his room so deathly quiet? Why did he suddenly feel nervous?

"Always."

Jack looked around, his enhanced hearing pinpointing to the foot of his bed. Unconsciously, he held the blanket tight in his hands. In all honesty, he didn't think he'd get an answer.

"What's wrong Jack? Afraid?"

The deep voice sounded amused. It's tone so familiar. Jack sat up on his bed, legs crossed as he tried to peer in the darkness. Enhanced senses or not, he didn't exactly have night vision.

"Reaper, are you real?" The question just popped out but the wraith didn't miss a beat.

"I'm as real as you believe, _puto_. I thought I told you that already."

Okay, so his subconscious was a snarky asshole. Fitting, he supposed. But why _Spanish?_ He didn't have an affinity for it. Visage of death and everything but _that_ was what he focused on? Priorities. Or maybe he wasn't in his head, at all.

"You're a ghost right?"

Silence.

"You can talk to me in my head," he thought aloud. Finding the limitations of his ghost was a good start. "And appear but only I can see you?"

"What, do you want a gold star, boy scout?"

"I never had a ghost before. Just making sure."

There was a silence as Jack tried to figure out something else to ask.

"Are you just going to haunt me? Or do you need to teach me some moral lesson to pass on or whatever?"

"None of the above."

"Oh. So what are the ghost rules then?"

A groan,"Look, I'm not a ghost. I'm a wraith. Different."

More silence. Ghost. Wraith. Seemed the same. It reminded Jack of the old stories his cousins would tell to try to scare him, but those couldn't be real, could they?

"So what are the wraith rules?"

Silence. Okay. So we're not talking about that.

"The supernatural is real then. Ghosts and stuff?"

"I'm a wraith and what do you think, stupid?"

Jack furrowed his brows and frowned. Okay. So he was crazy and he did imagine Reaper up during his fever and the wraith decided the stick around.

"You're in my head then..." it was a confirmation to himself. No response was given. Jack nodded to himself slowly, trying to process it and kept rewriting the scenario again. He had a fever dream of Reaper as a way to cope. Reaper stayed around. The serum fucked up his genetics and probably his mind, so he was crazy. Kind of. But why was Reaper still here? He didn't have to 'cope' with anything, or didn't feel the need to, at the moment. Was he here on some other basis?

"What's that on your neck?"

Jack blink. He fingered the mark.

"Tag. For my number."

A growl, "They fucking _marked_ you."

His mouth drew a flat line. He'd come to accept the bar code on the back of his neck. It healed long ago but he remembered almost crying when he got it. After the first round of injections, they examined who was left and decided to make them. It was just something they did to keep track of 'batches' and 'subjects'. Bold questions to the veterans who trained them revealed a jumble of several other numbers. On a whim, he tried examining it, only able to manage so much with a borrowed hand mirror. Lines of uniformal length but various thickness over a string of numbers tattooed right on his neck. The spaced 76 was what caught his attention. To them, he was just test 76. That was his number. Though he loathed to acknowledge it, it was something he answered to, unconsciously. Jack rubbed the base of his neck. It could easily be hidden under his clothes and it was pretty small. But if he thought up Reaper, shouldn't he know about it already?

His earlier working theory came back around. Maybe Reaper only knew information from then on? He was part of his imagination so he should know what he knew, right? His questions began to jumble up, crashing into one another in various leaps of logic.

"Isn't your lab check up tomorrow?"

Jack looked back at the dark corner where Reaper should be, questions silenced. He muttered a 'yeah' and felt the earlier anxiousness return.

"Can't sleep."

"Nervous?"

"Kind of."

Jack blinked at how easy those words left him. All week, his peers let lose their gossip and fears about the new check ups while Jack merely listened and never gave input. He tried to look strong and didn't want to show how the rumors to got to him. Right now,he didn't feel need to show off or lie. Those words just slipped out.

"You'll be fine, Jack."

Though there was no way to see it, he felt Reaper move in front of him. A chill wafted from where he assumed the wraith stood.(If he was standing.) A cold hand ruffled his hair. He should've been alarmed and on the defensive. He should've grabbed the wrist and attack, but just like during his fever, the cold hand felt calming to his entire being. The nerves from earlier just evaporated as he felt the hand push him gently back onto the bed. The covers were pulled up, and he finally felt sleepy that night.

"I'm sure of it," were the last words Reaper spoke before Jack embraced oblivion once more.

•••••••••••••

Jack watched the staff flit about the lab, a large open space divided with white curtains. He lay in an uncomfortable chair with tools attached, reminding him of being at the dentist, if the dentist restrained your wrists and ankles. Jack grimaced and he tugged a bit. Not exactly heavy duty but too much for even his enhanced strength could break. Thankfully there weren't too tight. 

He glanced at Rachel who was talking with Dr.Lang. This time the nurse held the clipboard. Dr.Lang spoke into a communicator before the doors opened and several more scientists walked in with their own clipboards. Dr. Lang stood next to him with a professional smile.

"Now 76, we're just going to perform a couple of tests to ensure your body is prepared for the last round of formula."

There was more? 

"Why the restraints?" Jack blurted out. His question went ignored as he noted the scientists crowding the far end of the room. Rachel had left, leaving him to the mercy of the lab coats.

Dr. Lang got to work, leaning the chair down so Jack laid flat on his back. He started with minor tests, flashing a light in his eyes for dilation, basic vital signs, and measurements of his limbs. Every so often, he muttered some jargon to the peanut gallery who scribbled something on their boards. As Dr.Lang finished measuring, he called over for a cart to be wheeled up to the side of the bed. Jack looked at all the vials on the top and furrowed his brow. What the hell are they going to do to him?

Unconsciously, Jack tugged against the restraints again, the sight of the multicolored liquids made him uncomfortable. Dr.Lang hushed him like you would an animal and patted his shoulder in a semblance of mock comfort. Head tilted, Jack watched the doctor fill a syringe of questionable liquid, calling the test number to the herd of clipboards. His breathing picked up as he turned his head away. The last few rounds of injections made him less wary of needles and the pinprick itself but more keen on the people administering them. Still, it was a common association among the soldiers now, the needle and suffering. Shutting his eyes tightly, he waited for the tell tale poke of the needle as it broke skin. Briefly, after it receded, Jack tried to slow his breathing.

In. 

Out.

I'm fine. 

That was until the burning started. Small at first, like holding a mug of hot coffee, but soon it roared in his veins where the needle had been. For a few moments, he bucked on the table, biting his lip to not cry out. Then it was gone. Jack took deep breaths, daring to open his eyes against the overhead light. Dr.Lang had a blank smile as he praised a good job to him. Jack turned his head to the he side and looked and the cart. There were 10 more vials. Still calming his breathing, Jack tried to focus on something else as he heard the clink of glass and the doctor calling out the next numbers.

He tried to think of anything: his comrades, the COs, the news, how bad the cafeteria food was, or his family. Nothing stuck. Each thought was immediately torn apart by a searing pain from the needle in his arm. His body continued to thrash while his mind tried to beat down the pain.

Something cold touched him. A brief touch. Jack opened his eyes to the white owl mask standing over him on the other side. A cold hand on his forehead. That hollow visage chased the pain into the background. The sensation wasn't dulled but less intense as he focused on the wraith, used him as his anchor.

_It's okay Jack. I'm here._

The voice in his head soothed him. He shut his eyes again as another shot of lava was injected in his arm.

_These fucking assholes...I swear..._

A growl followed by grumbling threats almost made Jack smirk. Reaper complained about the scientist and how fucked up they were. He talked about how tacky and cleché the whole situation was and joked about what really went in to making a superhero. Jack made a flat smile, wishing he could speak back, but he couldn't with so many lab coats watching. Reaper continued the one sided conversation, seeming to talk about everything and nothing at all in a mocking gracious tone that bled the pain into the background.

Finally, Dr.Lang finished swabbing and moved the chair up. Jack sat with his back against the chair, out of breath but alive. His restraints were released and he rubbed his wrists, grimacing at the welts that were beginning to form. The doctor had placed several clear bandages on his arms from injection points and was looking them over with sure and surprisingly gentle hands. Jack's frown deepened at the sight of his veins, boldly blue against his skin, unnatural. Dr.Lang quickly explained that it was a coloration pigment that would fade in two days time and reminded him of next week's check up.(Jack held back a shudder at the thought of going through this ordeal again next week.) Get some rest. Drink plenty of fluid and if you feel at all ill, report to med-bay immediately.

Jack stood on unsteady feet. Luckily, he was able to right himself as he walked, adjusting his weight until his numb legs came back to life. He glanced the crowd of scientists before leaving, scanning for a black hood but found none. The lab coats scurried about, cleaning the chair and disinfecting for the next guy as Jack left the labs. A nurse escorted him out of the sector before giving him a written reminder and closing the door behind him. Jack scratched his neck. It could've gone worse, he supposed but that wasn't true. It could've gone better too. He felt his nerves calm in the stillness and the absence of so many eyes, at least blatantly, watching him. After a moment, his body felt less fatigued and actually, more energized, like a near-death experience high. 

He walked aimlessly, shaking out his stiff legs, and trying to decide to either go find someone to spar or hit the range. He kept rolling his shoulders and tried not to rub his arm, noting the tenderness of the puncture wounds. The intense blue of his veins made him frown. Honestly, what the hell was that stuff? 

"Good, you can still walk. I told you, you'd be fine."

Jack jumped back as he rounded the corner. Reaper casually leaned against the wall, arms folded and head tilted to the side. Jack looked around and didn't see anyone.

"Don't do that."

A dark chuckle, "What, is the little boy scout gonna cry?"

Jack rolled his eyes. Why did he have to make this asshole so annoying? Was he a reflection of his true self or something?

"Why are you here?"

Reaper paused.

_Tak. Tak. Tak._

He tapped his claws against the wall in a steady rhythm.

_Tak. Tak. Tak._

"Well?" Jack prompted.

"Force of habit."

What's that suppose to mean?

"Somebody has to make sure your skinny ass doesn't get into trouble."

Jack furrowed a brow and smirked,"So like my guardian angel?"

Reaper tensed. A roll of his shoulders.

"Sure. Fine. If you want to think of it like that."

"Am I helping an angel get his wings?"

The wraith seemed to balk at that while Jack chuckled.

"Kinda dark for an angel though."

"...of death..."

"What was that?"

"Shut up, farm boy."

Briefly Jack stared at the mask, about to question on how much he knew about his past before reminding himself that the wraith technically was himself. Still, he felt off about it.

"Anything else you can do?"

Jack moved closer, curiously. He never got a good look before. The wraith was about his height, maybe a few inches taller. He questioned the shotgun shells in his ensemble and the many black belts. A barrel chest, broad shoulders, and honestly the thickest thighs Jack has seen in his life. 

"See something you like?"

The voice was amused. Jack flushed a bit, though he didn't even try to hide his staring, it burned a bit getting caught.

"Still blush like that, huh?"

There were notes of nostalgia in that tone and a hint of sadness that made Jack wonder. Had he known the wraith at some point? Was he a memory of distant man wiped from his mind? All possibilities seemed null and void yet he wondered who inspired this manifestation. It couldn't be _just_ himself.

"You didn't answer my question," Jack looked back at the mask. The wraith sighed.

"Answer me a question then."

"I asked you first."

A pause.

"Real mature Jack."

"Well I did," why was he arguing with himself? Another roll of the shoulders. Was that a gesture like rolling his eyes maybe?

"Fine. Stand back."

Jack complied, taking a step back and watching with interest. One moment, the wraith was standing in front of him; the next: the man had evaporated into fine mist. Literally _poof._ Jack blinked as he watched the black cloud move around in a cluster. It flew aimlessly before stopping in front of him. Jack shut his eyes as the cloud lunged at him. It had a solid pressure, like water vapor but lacking moisture. So cold as it flooded by him. Fast like an air drop, falling against the wind or putting a hand outside the window of a fast moving car. It was instant. Just as he became acquainted with the sensation, it fled, leaving residual pinpricks on his senses eliciting a shudder. Jack flinched feeling that cold claw on his shoulder, too wrapped up in the fleeting sensations. A low chuckle. Reaper was amused.

"I can do _that_. Answer your question, farm boy?"

Still dazed, Jack nodded slowly. It felt _too real_. He leaned against the wall. Delusions. Hallucinations. What the hell? That was real. Wasn't it? He couldn't imagine all that. Right?

"Hey, Jackie."

He snapped his attention back to the wraith, a new brand of curiosity and worry in his eyes.

"My question."

"Right."

Another pause. Reaper walked closer. He looked Jack up and down, appraising him.

"...probably not..," he muttered to himself. What was he looking for?

"Hmph," the wraith shook head slowly before facing him. "Do you remember me?"

Jack was about to say no but something stopped him. There was an odd feeling of familiarity he'd been associating with the wraith. A sense of warmth and home. He felt a bubble of nostalgia and bitter longing in his chest but only faintly and without a known origin. He pondered his words carefully, feeling like he's missing some very important pieces but unsure why. And why so suddenly.

"Not really."

Reaper paused. Jack didn't even realize he had more. It just spilled out.

"But I feel like I _should_. I don't know who I met that made me think you up but it seems like you're really important. Who are you?"

The answer didn't seem to disatisfy the wraith, but it wasn't exactly a good one either. Reaper nodded, ignoring his last question before turning his back.

"I'm going to be with you Jack. If you ever need me, for anything, just call. It's what I promised."

"Wait," Jack reached out but Reaper muttered something else under his breath and the body disappeared, as if he was never there to begin with. 

What he promised? 

Jack stood in the hallway, wondering. Was Reaper really a ghost? Did Jack really make him up? Who did he meet to make up Reaper? When did they make the promise? Why did he feel familiar?

The questions swirled around for a long time as Jack walked aimlessly. It was only when his steps lead him to mess hall for dinner did he break out of thought. Philips called him over to their table after Jack grabbed a tray. He and three other soldiers chatted about something while Jack only gave scarce answers and mindlessly ate his meal.

 _He's going to be with me._

The thought caused a warmth to blossom in his chest and a sense of comfort on his mind. A guardian angel of sorts dressed as the grim reaper. Sure. His Reaper. _Made sense_.


End file.
